Valor, And A Lack Of Discretion
by KelleBelle
Summary: COMPLETE. The battle is raging in the Department of Mysteries when Remus falls through the veil. With the help of Unspeakable Corbin Croaker, Sirius devises a spell that depends on dark magic, the only kind that can survive beyond the veil, to bring Remus
1. Chapter 1

Part One 

"The prophecy, give me the prophecy, Potter!" snarled Lucius Malfoy's voice in his ear, and Harry felt the tip of Malfoy's wand pressing hard between his ribs. 

"No—get—off—me…Neville—catch it!"

Harry flung the prophecy across the floor, Neville spun himself around on his back and scooped the ball to his chest. Malfoy pointed the wand instead at Neville, but Harry jabbed his own wand back over his shoulder and yelled, "Impedimenta!"

Malfoy was blasted off his back. As Harry scrambled up again he looked around and saw Malfoy smash into the dais on which Lupin and Bellatrix were now dueling. Malfoy aimed his wand at Harry and Neville again, but before he could draw breath to strike, Sirius had jumped between them. 

"Stupefy!" Sirius yelled, a bolt of red light hurtling from his wand and hitting Malfoy in the chest. Malfoy slammed into the base of the dais, unconscious, and did not move again.

"Thanks Sirius," Harry breathed, struggling to support Neville as his feet continued to jerk crazily on the stone steps.

"Finite," Sirius said, pointing his wand at Neville's legs, which fell still immediately. "Now run! I want you both to get out of here—" 

"DUBBLEDORE!" Neville shouted, cutting off Sirius's words.

They both turned to look where Neville was staring. Directly above them, framed in the doorway from the Brain Room, stood Albus Dumbledore, his wand aloft, his face white and furious. He sped down the steps past Neville and Harry, directly behind Sirius who had already begun racing down the stone steps to the dais where Lupin was still dueling furiously with Bellatrix.

Dumbledore had just reached the foot of the steps when the Death Eaters realized he was there. There were yells; one of the Death Eaters ran for it, scrabbling like a monkey up the stone steps opposite. Dumbledore's spell pulled him back as easily and effortlessly as though he had hooked him with an invisible line—

Only one couple were still battling, apparently unaware of the new arrival. Harry saw Lupin duck Bellatrix's jet of red light, diving towards the edge of the dais and rolling quickly back to his feet. Sirius leapt onto the dais and into the line of fire, drawing Bellatrix's attention away from Lupin.

"Really, Bellatrix, where are your manners?" Sirius shouted, his wand aimed directly at her face. "You haven't even said hello to your favorite cousin yet—"

With an angry shriek Bellatrix shot another bolt of red light, this time at Sirius, but with a wave of his wand Sirius sent the light shooting back at her.

"Neville, go and round up the others!" Harry shouted, leaping down the steps and heading for the dais. He didn't turn around to see if Neville had complied or not—he was racing towards Lupin and Sirius, who were now battling Bellatrix, working in perfect tandem as they ducked, dived, and sent spell after spell at her.

Dumbledore had most of the remaining Death Eaters grouped in the middle of the room, seemingly immobilized by invisible ropes, when Harry reached the foot of the steps. His wand aloft, he was ready to send a disarming spell at Bellatrix just as Lupin and Sirius both yelled, "STUPEFY!" together. As their twin jets of red light hit her in the chest, she gave a final shriek before slamming into the stone dais, unconscious.

"Harry!" Sirius yelled, turning his attention away from the fallen Bellatrix and leaping off the dais to where Harry stood, winded. "I thought I told you to get out of here!"

"I—I couldn't leave you," Harry choked out, still breathing raggedly. "I—I'm so sorry, Sirius, I thought they'd got you, I thought you were being tortured…" He tried to gulp in another breath of air, but found that his throat had constricted painfully…

"It's all right, Harry," Sirius said, kneeling down on one knee and grabbing Harry by the shoulders. "You were very brave today," he said gruffly, and embraced Harry tightly.

_Dumbledore's here, Neville's helping the others, and everyone is all right,_ Harry thought, feeling safe for the first time that day. He fisted his hands into the back of Sirius's shirt, and took in a deep breath of air. _Sirius is all right._

Harry reluctantly released Sirius when his godfather began to pull away. "Harry, I want you to go find Neville and get the others back to Hogwarts," Sirius said, meeting Harry's gaze. "Go quickly."

Harry glanced around and saw that Mad-Eye Moody had revived Tonks, while Kingsley stood with Dumbledore and was helping restrain the group of Death Eaters. Lupin was still on the dais, where he had bound Bellatrix with thick cords and was now levitating her unconscious body towards the group of contained Death Eaters.

Harry nodded, eager now to find Neville and the others. Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'll see you later, Harry," he said, and Harry grinned at him. 

Harry was beginning to turn away from Sirius when a movement at the base of the dais caught his eye. Harry gave a startled yell and jumped around Sirius just in time to see that Malfoy, who had been lying there forgotten, was now running across the dais towards Lupin—

"STUPEFY!" Malfoy yelled, and the spell hit Lupin squarely in the chest. Lupin's eyes widened in shock as he stumbled backwards, unbalanced. His mobilicorpus spell broke, sending the unconscious Bellatrix rolling across the stone dais, and Malfoy was racing toward her….

Harry and Sirius were running toward the dais, but they were too late. Harry saw it all happen as if it was in slow motion; Lupin's body was curving in a graceful arc as he sank backward through the ragged veil hanging from the arch…

Sirius sprinted for the veil, several paces in front of Harry, shouting, "REMUS!"

But Lupin was already falling; he fell through the ancient doorway and disappeared behind the veil, which ceased all movement for a moment, then began to sway gently once more.

A second later Malfoy reached the unconscious Bellatrix, and they apparated away.

"THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES….BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT…AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES….THE ONE WITH THE POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD WILL BE BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES…."

Sirius, Harry, and Dumbledore were quiet as Professor Trelawney's harsh, hoarse voice died away, her ghostly figure dissolving into nothingness. "So, that's it then," Harry said numbly, breaking the quiet that had descended in Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore had just finished explaining everything to a rather shell-shocked Harry—why Voldemort had targeted him to begin with, how Harry was destined to be either murderer or victim, and finally, why he hadn't so much as looked Harry in the eyes all year. Sirius had remained silent as his godson absorbed the information Dumbledore had so long withheld from him.

Sirius had only looked away from Harry's face when Dumbledore mentioned their conversation concerning Harry's vision of Arthur Weasley. But the rest of the time his eyes had been trained on Harry, watching his expressions change from grief, anger, shock, and finally to numb resignation, when at the end of Dumbledore's explanations he asked to hear the prophecy Neville had taken back to Hogwarts. Sirius's concentration on Harry's feelings helped him ignore the anguish he felt rising within himself…

"Everything that happened—it was all for this stupid prophecy," Harry said finally, his voice shaking. "Professor—Professor Lupin wouldn't have… wouldn't have…" Harry buried his face in his hands. "If it wasn't for me…."

Sirius rose from his chair and, for the second time that day, gathered a distraught Harry in his arms. A detached part of him recognized that this wasn't healthy, that he shouldn't be concentrating on Harry's grief in order to avoid his own, but instead his mind stubbornly refused to accept that Remus could truly be gone.

Corbin Croaker has always been in search of answers. Which is why when his fellow Unspeakable, Broderick Bode, died in St. Mungo's last year, he went to Albus Dumbledore and became a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

This is also how he came to be sitting in Dumbledore's office a week after the battle in the Department of Mysteries, sitting across from a Mr. Sirius Black, who is perhaps the greatest mystery of all.

Mr. Black doesn't look like a fugitive, Croaker reflected, though he supposed anyone would show improvement once out of Azkaban. Mr. Black was clean, reasonably well-clothed, and the tangled hair he knew so well from the Daily Prophet pictures was gone. All in all, he was barely recognizable as the mass-murderer the media portrays him to be. The only thing that bears any resemblance to the man from Azkaban is the haunted grey eyes, which were currently studying him from across the table.

Croaker decided it was time to break the silence.

"So, have you ever been to the Orient, Mr. Black?" 

Mr. Black frowned in confusion, until he realized that Croaker was referring to the knee-high table between them and the comfy pillows they were sitting on.

"Um, no… No, I haven't."

"Ah, well, that makes two of us then. I've never taken a liking to Asian cuisine, really. I'm relieved that Dumbledore offered us a regular English brew, and not that Japanese green tea."

Mr. Black nods slowly, as if trying to decide if this is really a conversation he should be having with an Unspeakable. "Well, these pillows are comfortable enough," he said finally, shifting into a cross-legged position.

"Hmm, yes, I suppose they are," Croaker agreed. "Well, they should suit our purposes. Dumbledore has told me a great deal of your circumstances, Mr. Black. I must confess I find you terribly fascinating—an Animagus at 16, I believe it was? Incredible." 

"Yeah, well, I only did it to help—" Mr. Black stopped suddenly, but Croaker knew he was speaking of Remus Lupin, the werewolf, Order member, and close friend of Mr. Black, who had fallen through the veil only a few days ago.

"I'm sure Dumbledore told you why I want to speak with you—I have to know about the veil," Mr. Black said, his hand gripping his steaming cup of tea. Croaker doubted he felt the heat. "I have to know," he repeated.

Croaker nodded. This was the hard part, of course. Sighing, be began to explain what he could to Mr. Black.

"The veil in the Death Chamber is ancient. It was discovered hundreds of years ago, and has been kept within the Department of Mysteries ever since. Of course, the Ministry of Magic didn't exist until the late sixteenth century. Before that, the veil had been used only for formal executions of prominent figures; it wasn't until the Unspeakable branch of the Ministry was founded that anyone bothered to study it, or find out exactly why and how it worked. There are almost no written records on the veil."

"What have your studies shown you so far?"

"Through general observation, and some basic tests, we have been able to determine that the veil is a very ancient kind of magic—magic that is essential to the fabric of our existence." Croaker paused, giving Mr. Black time to digest this information. "However, not much else is known about it. No one who has passed through the veil has ever returned to speak of what lies beyond."

"Yes," said Mr. Black, his voice tinged with frustration, "I guessed as much. But there has to be a way to bring someone back. Remus wasn't dead, he wasn't even unconscious when he fell through… he just disappeared, and nothing happened—the veil was absolutely still, it was just as if he'd walked right through—"

"Wait," said Croaker suddenly, interrupting him. "You say—you say the veil was absolutely still after he fell through?"

"Yes," Mr. Black said, his voice breaking as his knuckles turned white from his death-grip on the still-steaming cup of tea. "He just—he had been hit with a stunning spell and was thrown backwards, through it, and right after he fell the veil was absolutely still. It started to move… gently, I guess you would say… a few moments afterwards."

"You're sure?" 

Mr. Black took a deep breath. "Absolutely. Why?"

"In every other known case of someone entering the veil, the black curtain acted as though a large breeze was passing through the room. The veil is never more active than in that moment."

Mr. Black's unfathomable grey eyes flickered. "Do you… do you know why?"

Croaker's mind began to race, the new information discordant with everything they had thought was known about the veil. 

"There is a theory," he said finally, his voice soft and hesitant, "but it doesn't really explain why…"

"Why what? What is it?"

"I don't know…" Croaker said, more to himself than to Sirius. "This theory, it is hard to explain, but I imagine…."

Croaker focused on Mr. Black once again. Mr. Black met his gaze squarely, as if trying to prove himself. It was this measured gaze, more than anything else, that decided the matter for Croaker. He would tell Mr. Black everything he knew, regardless of the thousand Ministry regulations that forbid it. He knew everything said here was in confidence, and he trusted Albus Dumbledore—and, surprisingly, he found that he trusted this Sirius Black, and his haunted grey eyes.

"Well, Mr. Black, let's see what you make of it," said Croaker finally. "A few Unspeakables who study the veil—myself included—feel that it may be a portal to another dimension—another realm of magic, if you will—one not necessarily of the body, but of the mind and soul. Whether or not this is the realm of the dead, I do not know.

"The veil, as I mentioned earlier, is very ancient; what I didn't mention is that it is also very powerful dark magic. Whenever a witch or wizard passes through the veil, the veil uses their inborn magic to deliver them to this dimension. The violent fluttering of the veil after a magical person enters is caused by the influx of magical energy, which is then harnessed by the archway. Within a few moments of a witch or wizard entering the veil, the magical signature of the veil returns to normal, and the veil resumes its normal motion. 

"People who have seen or who have been touched by dark magic can hear voices coming from beyond the veil, though we have not yet been able to determine what these voices say. If our theory is correct, I would assume that these are the voices of those who have passed into this alternate dimension.

"The only evidence that would seem to contradict this theory," continued Croaker, "is the case of your friend, Mr. Lupin. From your account, it would seem that there was no influx of magic, which would also seem to indicate that he was not transported to another dimension."

There was silence for half a minute as Mr. Black ruminated over this information and Croaker tallied the number of contract violations he'd just committed. He was just passing three hundred when Mr. Black spoke suddenly.

"Of course," he breathed, "It all makes so much sense, no wonder the veil couldn't take Remus's magic—"

Croaker lifted his eyebrows inquiringly. "I'm afraid I do not follow, Mr. Black."

"Remus is a werewolf. He has dark magic coursing in his blood all the time, even if it's only activated during full moons. This veil—you said it harnesses a wizard's inborn magic, right?"

"That's our theory, yes," Croaker replied slowly, turning Mr. Black's words over in his mind.

"Inborn magic in a witch or wizard—it's not inherently bad or good, it's just raw energy. But not all of Remus's magic is inborn—a dark creature's magic is different, it's not just magical energy, because it isn't neutral, and the veil wouldn't be able to destroy dark magic because it is dark magic," said Mr. Black, his words coming out in a rush. "So—if the veil didn't harness Remus's magical energy…"

"He might not be trapped," Croaker said, his heart in his throat. "Astounding. Truly—just astounding. At the very least a thousand."

Mr. Black looked at him blankly, as if he thought Croaker was mad. Croaker nearly laughed at the thought.

"At least a thousand, Mr. Black. It's the number of laws I—we—will have to break, in order to save Mr. Lupin."

Mr. Black's tea cup shattered.

It was their second week back at Hogwarts. Hermione, Ron, and Harry were sitting at a table in the Gryffindor common room. It was just past midnight, and they were the only students awake. Ever since the end of last year, Harry and Ron had finally begun taking their schoolwork seriously, and they were currently attacking a Defense Against the Dark Arts Essay on how to recognize the symptoms of mind-altering potions and hexes. Normally Hermione would be thrilled to see them put so much effort into their schoolwork, but the knowledge that they were doing it out of necessity, with the impending war—it only made her chest tighten and the edges of her vision blur with tears.

"I—I think I'll go to bed now," said Hermione quickly, closing her textbook and gathering her quill. Ron looked up at her and nodded, barely stifling a yawn. Harry sighed, rubbed his eyes, and set down his quill.

"Wait, Hermione—I want to talk to you and Ron about something."

Ron and Hermione shared a quick look of surprise. Harry had been quiet and withdrawn ever since the battle in the Department of Mysteries, barely speaking to anyone outside of classes. Ron had also told Hermione that Harry hadn't been sleeping well either, though Harry had reassured Ron it wasn't Voldemort's visions that were keeping him awake. Hermione knew Harry was wracked with guilt over the death of Professor Lupin, and wondered if he was finally ready to talk about it. She set her books back down on the table, and took a fortifying breath. Crying won't help Harry's guilt, she reminded herself firmly.

Ron clapped a hand on Harry's shoulder. "What is it, mate?" he asked softly. Hermione wondered at how changed Ron was from last year—but then, she wasn't the only one who had grown up after the Department of Mysteries. They'd all learned a hard lesson in maturity.

"It's Snuffles," said Harry. "He—he thinks there's a way to bring Remus back from the veil."

There was a moment of stunned silence. Hermione felt her eyes widen, and saw that Ron's jaw had gone slack.

"But Harry," said Ron, after he had recovered the ability to speak, "necromancy is—it's the darkest form of magic, and it hasn't even been proven to bring people back. Besides, you'd need a body—"

"Remus isn't dead," said Harry, blinking tiredly behind his round glasses.

"What?" said Hermione, her voice an unsteady whisper. "You saw him, Harry. How—how can you say that?"

"Snuffles is working with an Unspeakable," Harry said, "and they think they know a way to rescue him from the veil."

Over the next half hour, Harry explained what Sirius had told him when they were together the last week of August. Hermione felt like her brain was working over-time, her exhaustion forgotten as she learned how Remus's lycanthropy may have saved him, placing him in a sort of limbo between their world and whatever lies beyond, and how Sirius and the Unspeakable have devised a spell that may be able to bring him back…

"Wait," said Ron suddenly, "So—so Snuffles and this Unspeakable are just going to waltz into the Department of Mysteries, aim their wands at the veil, and hope that Professor Lupin will come toppling back out?" He must have realized how dubious he sounded, because he quickly added, "I mean, I'm not saying that Snuffles isn't brilliant, of course he is, we all know that, but—he can't get into the Ministry again, for one thing—"

"Yeah, I thought of that too," said Harry. "He and the Unspeakable are going to the Department of Mysteries on Christmas Eve, when the Ministry staff will be at a minimum."

"But this spell," said Hermione, staring intently into the dying fire, "how could it possibly work? I don't think even Snuffles is powerful enough to overcome that much dark magic. I don't see how it would be possible to affect it that much, especially from outside of it—" Hermione stopped. "No," she whispered, turning her gaze to Harry. His green eyes were wide and over-bright…

"What?" asked Ron, shattering the terrible moment of silent comprehension.

"Hermione's right—no one would be able to affect that powerful a dark object from the outside, even Snuffles," said Harry shakily. "Snuffles and the Unspeakable came up with a spell, but to use it, Snuffles—he'll have to enter the veil himself."

"Are—are they sure Snuffles will be able to come back?" Hermione asked, trying to fit the words inside her mouth and speak them without giving into the painful ache in her chest.

"It depends on Remus," said Harry quietly. "When Snuffles enters the veil, he'll cast the spell and—" he paused, picked up his quill, and absently began to turn it between his thumb and forefinger. Hermione recognized the gesture from class, a new habit she had thought of as his 'thinking face.' A few moments later, he turned his gaze away from his quill and turned back to his friends. "It's complicated," he began again, holding the quill motionless. "When Snuffles explained it to me, he said that the spell would put a condition on the veil—that when it absorbs his innate magic, it will also absorb the magical stipulations of the spell."

"That makes sense," Hermione said thoughtfully. "It's all about intention, isn't it?"

"What intention?" asked Ron, shifting his gaze from Harry to Hermione.

"Well, it's like any other spell—it's not just about the words or where you aim your wand, it's the purpose behind it. Snuffles is putting magical conditions on the veil, his intention being to bring himself and Professor Lupin back. But that's not all of it." She hesitated for a moment, biting her lower lip, before she continued. "The question is, if Professor Lupin is in some kind of limbo, how will Snuffles get there? If the veil absorbs a wizard's innate magic, it should still be able to take Snuffles into the alternate dimension."

Ron looked at her, smiling despite himself. "You can be scary sometimes, Hermione," he said conversationally. 

Harry grinned at her, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's true, you know—it took me forever to figure that much out when Snuffles was explaining it to me."

Hermione shifted in her seat. She could feel that she was blushing, but her concern for Harry easily overpowered her slight embarrassment.

"Snuffles explained to me that the spell isn't designed to bring him to Remus, but to bring Remus to him," said Harry. "The idea is that they will be together in the same alternate dimension, no matter what it might be. The Unspeakable Snuffles is working with said that they think it's a place of the mind and soul, where certain elements of a person's life will be included. The catch is that once a person arrives in this alternate dimension, they don't remember anything of their past life."

"So this spell will let Snuffles keep his memory?" asked Ron.

"No," said Harry. "The spell will bring Remus to Snuffles and should put them in the same alternate dimension, but that's the limitation of the spell." 

"So how will they get back, if they can't remember entering the veil in the first place?" Ron said, his face taut with concentration. Hermione couldn't help noticing how sweetly concerned he looked before shaking herself and focusing all her attention on Harry.

"Well, that's really the heart of the matter," Harry explained. "Because the veil couldn't take Remus's magic, theoretically he should still have his memories from this life. They think that Snuffles will trigger Remus's subconscious, and that he'll realize that they're inside the veil. That's the key to the spell—when Remus remembers, his magic will force the veil to finalize the conditions Snuffles set on it. Then, they'll both be able to leave."

By now the fire was reduced to a few glowing embers. Hermione realized that it must be very, very early in the morning—probably past three—but her mind had never felt more awake than it did now. She had known that saying Sirius Black was brilliant was like saying the sun was warm, but she found herself reeling at his pure genius. She doubted that anyone else would have realized that Professor Lupin's lycanthropy could save him.

"Well," said Ron, laughing weakly, "only an escapee from Azkaban would think this possible, eh?"

Hermione nearly gasped aloud—of all the stupid, insensitive things to say—but to her surprise, Harry chuckled too.

"Yeah, I know," he said, and this time his small smile was genuine. "If it was anyone else, I'd be really worried. I mean, I think that he can pull it off—he and Remus, I mean. They weren't marauders for nothing."

"Professor Lupin was the best Defense teacher we ever had," Hermione added, smiling softly.

"He gave me a choice," Harry said after a few moments. The tension that had been so briefly relieved came rushing back into the room, washing over Hermione and sending uncomfortable prickles over her skin. "He told me that—that he loves me like a son…"

No one said anything, but Hermione and Ron shared a brief look before Ron embraced Harry from the side in a slightly awkward one-armed hug, and Hermione moved to the other side of the table to hold Harry's hand. They sat like that for a while, maintaining contact until Harry's breathing became regular again. He gently shrugged off Ron's arm and squeezed Hermione's hand before releasing that, too.

"He gave me a choice," Harry said again, "and told me that he loves me like a son, and that he'd never do this if he wasn't sure it would work. But he said if I wasn't sure, and if I didn't want him to take the chance—that he wouldn't go."

"What did you say?" Hermione asked tentatively, though she already knew the answer.

"I told him that I love him too," Harry said. Hermione felt a pang in her heart when she realized that it must have been the first time anyone's ever said that to Harry, and tears began welling in her eyes. "I also told him that he's one cocky bastard, but since I have complete faith in Remus, he'd better go." 

Boys, thought Hermione, and blinked back the tears that were gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"What did he say to that?" said Ron, laughing.

"That I was a wise man to place my faith in Remus," Harry said, grinning.

Ron chuckled, but soon his laugh was interrupted with a wide yawn. "Sorry, I'm knackered," he said sheepishly.

Harry yawned too. "So am I," he said, standing up. "I guess we should go to bed, unless we want to give Snape an excuse to give us a month of detentions for falling asleep in class."

"Well, maybe we'll be brewing some kind of sleeping potion, and then he'll have no excuse not to give us high marks since our potion obviously works so well."

"Wait," Hermione said, interrupting the boys' banter. "I'm just wondering, Harry… did Snuffles tell you how the veil will recognize that Remus remembers?"

"Yeah… Snuffles said the spell is like a key, and when Remus remembers it will be like he's opening a lock. Snuffles and the Unspeakable constructed the spell so that Remus only has to speak the key to the spell, something he'd only know if he truly remembered his life. It'll work like a trigger."

Hermione frowned. "But what if Remus accidentally says the keyed word, before he truly remembers again?"

Harry smiled. "That's unlikely."

"Why?" Ron asked. "What's the key word?"

"Padfoot." 

December 20

Dear Snuffles, 

Thanks again for letting me stay with you over the first bit of Christmas hols—it was nice of you and Dumbledore to arrange it. It's nice to be back at Hogwarts too, of course. The Christmas feast is always nice, and I plan on nicking down to the kitchens after I write this to get some early samples of what we'll have. Plus I haven't seen Dobby in a while, and I have a pair of socks I want to give him from my last trip to Hogsmeade.

I wanted to let you know that I'm glad you're going to visit our mutual friend soon. I'll look forward to seeing you both when you're back.

Also… thanks for telling me that you love each other, like my parents did. It means a lot that you decided to tell me. I understand why you wouldn't have said earlier.

I know you said you started loving our mutual friend when you were in school together. If you don't mind me asking… when did you realize? And did my father know? (Not that you two were, you know, as obvious about it as Ron and Hermione are.)

I love you.

-Harry 

December 22

Dear Harry,

I'm glad you're having a good time back at Hogwarts, though I must confess I hope that in the future you'll spend much less time there over the holidays—I miss having you around.

To be honest I was more nervous telling you about my feelings for Moony than I was when I confided in Prongs. I told Prongs how I felt about Moony when I stayed with him for the summer holidays before our seventh year. He was surprised, but after he recovered from the shock he was always supportive. Of course, I'd always been closer with Prongs than my real brother, but after that I truly considered him my brother. I can't say how much his support meant to me—how much it still means to me. Prongs became my confidant, since at the time the entire situation seemed entirely hopeless (you should have heard Moony laugh at me when he found that out—he has always thought me entirely too vain. I imagine he thought it was a good lesson for me.)

Your parents loved you so much, Harry. Always know that. And I know I will never be a father to you—I wouldn't want to be James to you—but I couldn't love you more if you were my own son (and no jokes about how it's a good thing I have you, or else I'd never know what that feels like—your father did enough of that when you were born, you know).

When I'm back from seeing Moony I'll contact you immediately (remember to keep it with you at all times). In the meantime, keep your head up, and stay safe. We'll see each other very soon, I'm sure. And Moony will be thrilled to see you as well. 

I love you too, Harry.

-Snuffles

"Nox," Harry whispered, and the wandlight he'd been using to reread Sirius' letter flickered out. It was Christmas Eve, and he was freezing from standing atop the astronomy tower.

Harry slipped the note back into his pocket, fingers brushing briefly over cool metal, before pulling his new woolen cloak more tightly around himself. He had mentioned before visiting Sirius that he had grown so tall nearly all of his winter clothes were too small for him, and he'd have to go to Hogsmeade when he got back to Hogwarts. In retrospect, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when Sirius presented him with an entirely new wardrobe filled with the best wizarding robes galleons could buy.

Of course, that was nothing compared to what else Sirius had offered him—a home, once he was exonerated, something that Dumbledore had said is likely to happen within the next year if the right Death Eaters are questioned under Veritaserum. The new Minister of Magic, Amelia Bones—formerly the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and someone Harry knows personally from his trial at the ministry—is fair, and would listen to Dumbledore once it became obvious he wasn't in league with Voldemort. All in all, things were looking up… as long as Sirius returned from beyond the veil.

Harry shivered. 

Looking up, Harry realized that tonight the moon was barely a sliver in the sky, and that the stars were as bright as he'd ever seen them.

Harry wasn't one for crying—he cried when he thought Remus was dead, he cried when he thought he may lose Sirius, and he cried again with guilt after learning what he'd really caused Sirius to lose (though he made sure Sirius didn't know about that time). The words 'I love you' were still so foreign to him, still so strange to see in his own handwriting. He didn't want to lose that feeling, as selfish as it was.

Harry knew it was nearly midnight, and that Sirius and the Unspeakable who was helping him were making their way through the Department of Mysteries, maybe even climbing down the stone steps this very instant….

Harry continued to gaze at the starry night sky, refusing to look away from the brightest star of all, blinking rapidly so that its silver-blue edges would remain clear.

After months of working with Sirius Black, Corbin Croaker knew his first impression was uncannily correct. Sirius was indeed the biggest mystery of all, and apparently one that only Remus Lupin had ever solved.

He didn't voice these thoughts aloud, though, as he led Sirius through the atrium and onto a lift. The only words spoken so far that night was the cool, "Department of Mysteries," by the disembodied female voice as the grilles of the lift opened. They stepped off the lift and walked through the long, bare corridor, where at the end Croaker pushed open the black door leading to the circular room of doors.

Sirius was standing to his left as the black door fell shut behind them, and the room began to rotate. Once it stopped, Croaker proceeded immediately to a door on his right.

"How do you know which door is the correct one?" Sirius asked, and Croaker nearly started from hearing his voice.

"Oh, I'm afraid that's a secret," Croaker said, grinning. Sirius rolled his eyes, though he did so somewhat distractedly.

"Yeah, well, I figure what's one more violation to the thousand laws you've assured me we've already broken?" he said.

"Hmm," said Croaker, as he and Sirius strode through the door and down the steps leading to the raised dais. "Tell you what, I'll tell you when you get back."

"Fair enough," Sirius said, and clapped him on the back. A year ago—actually, even a few months ago—Croaker would never have thought he would be friends with Sirius Black, Azkaban fugitive and the 'rallying point' for escaped Death Eaters. He smiled a bit ruefully, thinking how very convoluted his life has become, and how very grateful he is for it. 

He and Sirius climbed the steps up the dais, and stood before the fluttering veil. Croaker looked at Sirius, and saw that he was studying the veil intently. Croaker knew this was part of the spell, part of the magic, so he did nothing to break Sirius' concentration.

After a few more moments Sirius raised his wand, and began to whisper the words of the spell they'd spent months devising. Once, when Croaker and Sirius were up all night researching the construction of various memory spells, Croaker commented that Sirius was more than brilliant enough to make a great Unspeakable, to which Sirius had laughingly replied, "Well, I'm rather good at doing unspeakable things to certain werewolves, but don't tell Remus I said that. He thinks he's still in the closet, poor bloke." Croaker had been more than slightly surprised—but then one should always expect the unexpected when it comes to Sirius. 

In the beginning, it had been a point of some concern that Sirius was so confident about the spell. But, after working it out with him for months, he realized that Sirius's instincts had been spot on—the spell itself would be effective. The only variable in the equation was Remus Lupin, and according to all who knew him he was as steadfast and reliable as the phases of the moon (though Croaker recognizes the analogy is cruel). At any rate, they were both more or less confident that it should work, despite its theoretical status.

Finally, Sirius lowered his wand, and took a deep breath. Croaker said nothing, but felt the waves of Sirius's magic wash over him. He knew it was an immensely powerful spell, of course, and that Sirius was an immensely powerful wizard, but the intensity of this magic was like none he had ever experienced before.

"This is it, then," said Sirius softly, and turned to give Croaker a final roguish grin. "Don't wait up for me, eh?"

Croaker smiled back, his heart beating faster with suspense. He looked for the right words to say—Merlin, he hadn't thought of this part until now, how he would feel watching his friend walk through the veil—and could only think of one thing.

"Merry Christmas, Sirius."

"Ah, it's not Christmas yet," he replied. "In fact—I believe I have slightly less than a minute before it is. Best be going, then."

"See you soon. Good luck." 

Sirius nodded, all traces of frivolity gone from his countenance. "Thank you, Corbin. For everything."

"Not at all."

Sirius nodded, and turned his attention back to the veil, and raised his wand for the final incantation. "Commemini Padfoot," he said, the words of the spell that contained the key to bringing he and Remus back alive. It was the first time Croaker had heard the word Sirius had chosen, and he blinked in confusion. He didn't get a chance to ask, though, because in that blink of an eye Sirius had stepped through.

A few seconds before midnight, he understood, and began to laugh.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

Sirius Black does not feel eleven years old.

His collared shirt is itchy, but his nanny had made him wear it for the dinner party. "It wouldn't be proper if you weren't presentable," old Mrs. Higgins had said, combing his hair and straightening his tie. "You know your parents want you to look your best for the family."

And that was how Sirius had come to spend his eleventh birthday squirming discreetly in his chair, the welt on his wrist reminding him which fork to use during which course, and the pain on his backside making sure he will Remain Silent, Or Else.

After finally escaping the dinner table to the relative safety of his room, Sirius tugs off his uncomfortable shirt and tie. He then sees the wrapped packages on his bed, and eyes them warily. He thinks they must all be clothes, since nearly all the boxes are thin and rectangular.

Unfortunately, he's right.

Sirius unwraps package after package only to find new clothes for the uniformed school he will be attending in the fall. Navy blue blazers, khaki pants, red ties….

Dutifully, Sirius gathers up his new school clothes and places them in the bottom of his closet (Mrs. Higgins would take care of the rest later) and turns to the last package on his bed.

It is large and square, and almost certainly does not contain more white oxford shirts. Sirius begins to unwrap it quickly, tearing off the bright paper in large strips, excited at the prospect of a real birthday gift.

When the last of the paper is torn off the mystery package reveals itself to be an ornate marble chess set, the pieces smooth, cold, and unbreakable. Sirius can hardly believe it.

It is the same chess set he received from his parents last Christmas. 

Laying flat on his bed, Sirius gazes at his ceiling and wonders when his parents' guests will leave, and where his parents will go to on their next vacation.

After a while he turns on his side so that he can face the window, reminding himself that Blacks Don't Cry, Or Else.

His eyes remain dry as he wonders how he'll ever uphold the family honor enough to save himself from the reprimands he is sure to receive tomorrow from Mother. He wonders if he even wants to, anymore.

Sirius Black does not feel eleven years old.

**2.**

It is a dark and stormy bus ride.

Remus looks out his rain-streaked window, shivering at the knowledge that the waning moon lurks behind the black clouds. Flashes of lightning illuminate the wet forest, individual leaves shimmering in the glow. Trees appear in glistening silver flashes, the sound of thunder quick to follow each bolt of lightning.

It is Remus' first day of school, and he is frightened. It's the day just after the full moon, his bandages and bruises hidden beneath a neatly pressed oxford shirt and khaki pants. He is alone on the bus, for now, his stop being the first in the morning and the last in the afternoon. He is the only student living in the rural area—the only student attending wholly on scholarship—and feels self-conscious of it, and wary. Remus does not know who the other boys are, if they will care, and thinks to himself, _it's just another thing to hide._

The bus rambles on down the road; from Remus' seat near the back of the bus (he calculated it so he would sit half-way between the last seat and middle seat) he watches the long windshield wipers whip the pouring rain from the glass.

The bus driver is humming some half-forgotten song, his dark silhouette illuminated only when veins of light stretch across the sky. The loud clash of thunder that follows fails to stem the driver's vague tune, the wavering notes almost but not quite lost in the howling wind. _Omens_, Remus thinks to himself, and shivers again.

The bus continues winding down the road, the slicked tires gliding over the black pavement, the rumbling in the engines muted by the storm.

After some time the forest thins and finally stops, yielding to fences and the shadows of townhouses in the distance. The bus shudders to a stop a few minutes later, and someone climbs onto the bus.

Remus' first instinct is to crouch down and make it so whoever it is can't see him, but too late; he is making his way down the narrow bus aisle towards him.

Gathering his confidence, Remus sits up straighter and tries to turn the corners of his mouth into something resembling a casual grin. He isn't sure what a casual grin is, exactly—his smiles are much like his nature, either there or not—but he feels his cheeks bunch up a bit and supposes it will have to do.

The boy pauses in the aisle next to him; the bus lurches into motion once again, and wavering slightly the boy plops down into the seat across from Remus. Remus opens his mouth, thinking that saying hello wouldn't be too much of a risk, but the other boy finishes before Remus can start.

"Hullo. What's your name? Mine's Black."

He sticks out his hand towards Remus and leans forward. His entire face is suddenly thrown into stark relief, and Remus can make out his pale skin and rain-slicked black hair, his motion as sweeping and demanding as the raging wind. Remus is startled that his grey eyes seem familiar somehow, when consciously he knows he's never seen eyes that color before. 

Encouraged, Remus reaches out to shake his hand and says, "Hullo. Mine's Remus Lupin."

"So," the boy called Black says, shrugging off his wet blazer, "I suppose you'll want to know about my family." He runs his hands through his thick black hair, shaking off as much water as he can. "We're properly wealthy—my dad owns several vineyards throughout France and Italy, and he's in government here. We can trace my family back through 13 generations. Our name carries a lot of weight, you know, so I suppose being my friend will be all right with your folks. Lupin…." Black pauses, looking thoughtful, not noticing Remus' stunned gaze. "That doesn't sound familiar. Are you an exchange student? I know about Nott and Avery, and Malfoy as well—all very respectable families, according to my mom—" the boy broke off, and sighed. "Well, no escaping it, then. So, what's the Lupin Legacy?"

Remus feels his cheeks burn and his eyes go wide. He has no idea what to say—he's astonished; he hadn't counted on being asked about his 'circumstances' so early.

The boy is looking at him expectantly, as if resigned to something. Suddenly Remus doesn't care what he thinks, or what anyone else does—he decides he will be the Lupin Legacy, if he has to. He licks his lips and draws a silent breath.

"Actually, my family owns a farm, just beyond the forest. I can't trace my family back farther than my father's parents, and I have no idea about my mother's side, because she died when I was young. There's no legacy, at least as far as I know. I'm—I'm going here on scholarship, actually." Remus' voice doesn't waver, but his cheeks are hot.

Black is silent, and Remus thinks ruefully _at least I caught him as unawares as he caught me._ The sky is turning light grey around them as the storm loses its earlier ferocity, and the bus is slowing down again, ready to emit new passengers.

At the front of the bus two girls get on, complaining loudly and closing their umbrellas, then taking seats behind the bus driver. The bus doors close with a squelch, and the engine rumbles again, louder than it sounded before. 

"I'm sorry—I didn't know there would be anyone attending All Hallows who wasn't, you know—a rich bastard." Black says finally, ending the awkward silence. "Sorry for being one just now. A rich bastard, I mean." He offers Remus a sheepish grin, and sticks out his hand once again. "Hello. My name's Sirius. What's yours?"

"Remus," he replies, his tension dissipating as he shakes Sirius' hand. A real, full smile spreads across his face, erasing all traces of the half-hearted grin he'd tried to construct earlier.

_Omens_, Remus thinks as Sirius releases his hand and begins talking again. The last drop of rain makes its way down Remus' window, leaving a wet trail the wind soon carries away.

**  
3.**

_Slam._

"Mrs. Higgins!" Sirius shouts, discarding his school bag and leaping up the first, second, and third flights of stairs. "Mrs. Higgins! I'm home!"

Sirius finds Mrs. Higgins dusting the family portrait on the third floor, chuckling to herself. "So, I'm guessing school wasn't as terrible as you expected it to be?" 

Sirius grins back at her. "Nope," he says, rocking back on the balls of his feet, all his excitement he'd barely contained throughout the day threatening to spill over now. "The school is brilliant," he gushes, "all stone hallways and old tapestries and this gigantic cafeteria—it was incredible! Almost as good as a castle, and I'll bet it even has secret passages!"

"Oh, no," Mrs. Higgins frowns, her wrinkled skin pulling taught around her thin lips. "I hope you aren't planning on causing trouble already, Sirius."

Sirius groans; he should have kept the bit about secret passages to himself. Quickly he changes the topic. "I met this boy today, he's dead clever and really funny, actually worth talking to. His name's Remus Lupin, and he lives on a farm, just past the forest."

Old Mrs. Higgins arches her eyebrows, dusting her withered hands off on her apron. "And he attends All Hallows?" she asks, silently posing the question, but how can he afford it?

"Oh, he's on scholarship," Sirius grins. "Was I relieved when I heard that! I thought there would only be snotty rich bastards—"

"Sirius!" Mrs. Higgins scolds, sounding scandalized. "If this is the kind of language you come home using after only the first day—"

"Sorry," Sirius apologizes quickly, not sounding sorry at all, grinning impishly up at his nanny.

She smiles, shaking her head at him. "Well, you'd better come along, then," she says finally. 

"Come along where?" Sirius asks curiously. "It's not Wednesday, no fencing or anything."

"Follow me," Mrs. Higgins says cryptically, turning around and heading down the stairs. Curiosity piqued, Sirius follows her, mystified when he finds himself standing outside his door.

"Go on in," Mrs. Higgins says, patting him gently on the shoulder. Perplexed, Sirius enters his room, and gasps.

In the middle of the floor is a sleek black telescope, its lens glinting in the afternoon sunlight. 

"Where—where'd you get this?" Sirius whispers, hardly daring to believe it.

"Oh, I have my ways," says Mrs. Higgins mysteriously, obviously pleased with Sirius' reaction. 

Sirius walks up to the telescope and slides his hand gently across it, fingering the adjustments reverently. It is what he's wanted for as long as he can remember, and what he hadn't dared ask for.

"It's a late birthday present," Mrs. Higgins says, interrupting Sirius' thoughts. "I wanted to wait until the first day of school, a little something to cheer you up."

"Thank you," Sirius breathes, and turns to hug Mrs. Higgins, something he hasn't done since he was a very small child. He can't help marveling at how unexpectedly wonderful it is to be eleven years old. 

**4.**

Remus and his father are sitting across the table from each other, and Remus is excitedly telling his father about his first day of school. Mr. Lupin can't remember the last time he's heard Remus talk this much in one sitting, and already finds that he quite likes this Sirius Black fellow.

"Remus," Mr. Lupin says when Remus is finished with his description of his and Sirius's theory that the school's tapestries are hiding secret passageways, "I finished cutting the wood for the new shed today. It should be ready in time."

Remus stops chewing his chicken for a fraction of a second, but by the time he's swallowed he has a nonchalant, "Okay, then," on his lips. 

That night, Remus dreams of spending full moons in a shed—or a house, he can't really tell—instead of his usual cellar. Oddly there seems to be a stag, a rat, and a large dog with him, but Remus's father wakes him up before the dream tells him anything more. By the time he finishes breakfast, he has forgotten the dream completely.

**  
5.**

"I can't believe I'm doing this." Sirius mutters, stumbling in the brambles hidden by the undergrowth. "How could I let you convince me this was a good idea?"

"It _is_ a good idea. I've been doing this since I was born. Everyone should camp, even the sheltered, pampered aristocrats," Remus laughs, hiking through the forest with practiced ease. "How are you doing back there?" 

Sirius spares a glance from a nearby cluster of suspicious looking plants to scowl at the bundle in his arms. "This telescope is really heavy."

"At least you're not carrying the rucksack," Remus replies.

They continue in silence for a while longer. Sirius is too busy looking down at where he's placing his feet to notice when Remus stops. Sirius walks squarely into his back, an experience that is amazingly similar to running headfirst into a brick wall. The air rushes out of Sirius's lungs as he overbalances, topples over, and only just manages to save his telescope from being crushed.

"Bollocks! Watch it, Remus, I almost dropped it!" Sirius says, carefully pushing himself back to his feet.

"This is it," Remus says, setting down the rucksack and shaking out his arms.

Sirius gently rests his telescope against the rucksack, and finally looks up to assess his surroundings. They are standing on the edge of a small clearing, long blades of grass poking up between last autumn's layer of fallen leaves. The trees surrounding the clearing are still budding leaves, the sunshine of late spring turning them a pleasant shade of light green. It isn't warm enough yet for too many flowers to have bloomed, but Sirius can see a few daisies on the far edge of the small meadow.

"Here, I'll show you how to pitch the tent."

Sirius eyes the stakes Remus has pulled out of the rucksack dubiously. "Are you sure this will work?"

Remus, who is bent over the rucksack and rummaging for the rolled up two-man canvas tent, glances over his shoulder at his companion. Sirius is standing very still and very straight, his black hair pushed away from his sweaty face. Remus grins at Sirius, who looks every bit the aristocrat he appears to be in school, only much more disheveled. 

"Of course I'm sure. My dad and I go camping every summer, and this tent has never failed us. Well," Remus amends, looking thoughtfully up at the sky, "one year we got a bit wet when it rained…."

"It won't rain," Sirius says, carefully sitting down next to Remus and examining one of the stakes. 

"No, it wouldn't dare rain on a Black."

"The _weatherman_ said it would be a clear night," Sirius says, and pokes Remus in the ribs with the dull end of the stake. "Twat." 

"Well, then," Remus says, triumphantly pulling out the canvas tent, "you have nothing to worry about."

It is twilight when Remus and Sirius finish pitching the tent and setting out their sleeping bags. They eat the sandwiches Remus' dad prepared for them, and share the now luke-warm cocoa from the lid of a plaid thermos. Sirius's telescope is already set up, so all they have left to do is wait for night to fall.

"We should do this all summer," Sirius says suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence they had fallen into after their sandwiches had been devoured.

Remus looks at him, his features schooled into an expression of mock-disbelief. "All summer? Are you sure you could last a week without a five course meal?"

Remus is expecting Sirius to cuff him, or at least give a playful retort, but instead Sirius says, quietly, "I think I could rough it. I mean, that would be the best part… no parents, no stupid family dinners. Just... get away from it. What do you say, Remus?"

Remus, who had only suspicions about Sirius' unhappiness with his family until now, gives a silent nod of assent. They don't talk about their feelings often—ever, actually—and Remus can only appreciate vaguely that Sirius is opening up to him about his family for the first time. He doesn't understand what that might mean, except that Sirius and he are best friends, and he'll try to do whatever he can to help him. 

"I'll show you the swimming hole this summer," Remus says finally. "And there's a place we can fish, too. We won't be able to cook them till my dad trusts us enough to start a campfire, but they're fun just to catch."

This time it is Sirius who silently nods his agreement, and the two fall back into a comfortable silence. Around them the trees rustle in the light breeze, and the sky slowly fades to black. Sirius stands and pulls Remus up with him, and together they go to examine the stars.

That night, Remus dreams of a tall tower, and the rustle of parchment as he charts the constellations overhead during a new moon. There are blurred outlines of friends with him, standing beside him as they work quietly. When he wakes, he only remembers the feeling of belonging, and his temporary triumph over the night sky. 

**6.**

"Bonjour mes étudiants! Comment-allez vous?" begins Madame Maté. "Welcome to French class. Please sit where you like. I would like you to feel comfortable making mistakes, and for that you need to be comfortable with the people around you."

"Come on!" Sirius says and tugs on Remus' sleeve until they find two chairs together in the back of the room.

"Magnifique! Now when I call your name and I would like you to stand up." Madame Maté claps. 

Sirius half listens as she calls out Avery, a name he's heard far too often around the dinner table. His father is making him take French this year, since so much of the Black family fortune is invested in French property and business. At least Remus was willing to take it with me, Sirius thinks. I'd hate to be alone with anyone my father deems worthy company. Sirius thinks longingly of the past summer, wishing that his parents hadn't come home in time for his second year of school.

"Sirius Black," Madame Maté calls, bringing Sirius out of his reverie. He stands and tries to pay attention to what she's saying.

"Oui Madame, Sirius, like the star." He cringes inwardly at the reference. He's always liked his name, but it annoys him when girls fawn over it and giggle. Usually he enjoys attention, but those giggling girls make him feel uncomfortable.

"And do you know any French already?" Madame Maté asks.

"Oui Madame, un peu. Ma bonne m'a enseigné à la vigne de ma famille en France." He explains slowly, stumbling over the words. He only knows a few phrases, but he hopes he's done his nanny some justice with his attempt.

"Well then, perhaps you will be able to lend your friends a hand. Thank you, Sirius."

Sirius sits and promptly stops listening as she continues, but glances up when Remus stands. He is confused until he realizes that "Ray-moo Lyu-pan" is Remus' name in French.

"Class, Remus' last name is very interesting. Does anyone know why? Sirius?" Sirius shakes his head. "The word 'loup' in French means 'wolf.' Do you know where your name comes from, Remus?" Sirius notices Remus has gone white, although he is shaking his head politely. "Well, it is interesting, non? We have an étoile, 'star'—" Madame Maté nods towards Sirius, "and a loup, 'wolf.'" 

Sirius decides he does not like Madame Maté, who seems to take a perverse pleasure in torturing young boys with their unfortunate names. The entire class is staring at both of them now. Sirius catches Avery's eye and winks at him, and watches as Avery frowns and turns away. Sirius smirks, satisfied.

"And do you know any French already?"

"Mes parents sont Français, ma mère m'a enseigné quand j'ètais jeune." 

Sirius, who was still smugly looking at Avery, whips around so quickly he's sure his neck has cracked. Rubbing it with one hand, he looks up at his friend, absolutely shocked. He had no idea Remus speaks French!

"Ah, oui? Je voudrais rencontrer vous mere."

"Ma mere est morte. Elle est morte quand j'ai six ans."

"Je suis désolée. Bienvenue Remus."

"Merci Madame."

They spoke so rapidly that Sirius didn't have the chance to translate what they said, though he thinks he heard the word "mother." Madame Maté smiles at Remus and continues down her list. Remus sits slowly, focusing on his desk intently.

After class Sirius walks with Remus, who is still rather pale.

"Why didn't you tell me you speak French?" Sirius demands, feeling a bit put out.

"My parents are French, you knew that."

"Your mom was, too?" Sirius asks, surprised.

"Yes, she helped teach me." 

"Oh," Sirius says, not knowing what to say. Remus is still looking uncomfortable, so he decides to change the subject. 

"Madame Maté is an odd bird, eh?" Sirius says, trying to cheer Remus up. "At least your name is manly sounding—loup," and here Sirius flashes Remus a view of his canines. Remus doesn't seem amused, though. "Huh, never would have picked up on that. My name, though," and here Sirius rolls his eyes for emphasis, "she makes me sound like a ponce. At least you've nothing to be embarrassed about. Girls don't giggle at your name."

"I don't think girls giggle at you because of your name," Remus says dryly, but Sirius can tell from the quirk in his lips that he's feeling better.

"C'est dingue, non? Where are you going now?" Sirius nudges Remus with his shoulder.

"Chemistry."

"Me too." Sirius gives Remus a bright smile. "Come on then, Wolfie."

Remus swats at him, but Sirius can tell his glare is mostly for show. 

**7.  
**  
Remus is on a train, sitting across from a girl with red hair. He thinks she is saying something to him, but he's distracted when a boy with black hair and grey eyes opens the door to their compartment.

Then, the dream shifts, and he's suddenly in the middle of a large field, standing next to the boy from the train.

"Potter knows what he's doing," Sirius admits grudgingly, scowling up at the boy on the broomstick overhead. "Show-off."

Remus says nothing, knowing that this has something to do with the tension between the House of Black and the equally pureblooded Potters, which was making their first week at Hogwarts somewhat miserable. He wonders why Sirius talks to him—a half-blood nobody—but he guesses Sirius believes him to be the lesser of two evils. Remus wants to laugh—if only Sirius knew!—though the thought really isn't funny at all.

The dream shifts again, and suddenly he and Sirius are in the air, but not on broomsticks. They're on a sleek, black motorcycle, flying in the chilly night air. Remus feels his arms wrapped tightly around Sirius, grinning madly as the air rushes past his face…

Remus wakes up freezing, and realizes that he's left his window open. He gets out of bed and closes it, idly wondering how late it is. He stands at the window, gazing up at the quarter moon sky, trying to recapture the wonderful sensations from his dream. He's started having more of them since the end of his second year at school. And they always seem to feature the same people, though Sirius is the only one he recognizes.

He once read that it's impossible to dream about things you haven't thought of or seen before, which is odd because Remus is sure he's never been to any real castles or thought about soccer on flying broomsticks (Sirius and the boy with glasses calls it Kwitchit, or something). They're wonderful dreams, though they scare him sometimes.

How is it possible, Remus wonders, to feel more alive in your dreams than when you're awake? 

**  
8.**

Sirius has knocked a hundred times in the past few minutes, but to no avail. He is standing on the Lupins' doorstep, looking to see if Remus wants to go camping tonight—it's no good for stargazing since the moon's full and is already up, though it's not quite dinner time yet—but Sirius' parents are traveling and Mrs. Higgins gave him permission as it's the last week before their fourth year at All Hallows. Sirius has even remembered matches for the campfire.

"Bugger," Sirius says. He is about to turn around and head back home when he realizes that the kitchen light is on. Hesitating for only a moment, Sirius finds the key he knows is hidden underneath the smallest flowerpot and cautiously lets himself into the Lupin home.

A feeling of foreboding settles upon him as he makes his way through the small entryway and into the illuminated kitchen. "Remus?" Sirius calls out, wondering where he could be. The only reply is the creaking of his footfalls on the oak floors.

Sirius has been in Remus' house countless times—it's been three summers now that he and Remus have spent out here on the Lupin Farm—but something feels off, and Sirius doesn't know what to do with the eerie feeling he can't quite shake.

Sirius alternates calling "Remus!" and "Mr. Lupin!" as he investigates the house, but he finds neither. Sirius's heart is racing, which he thinks is stupid, but something in the air doesn't feel right—

"This is stupid," Sirius mutters to himself, wondering why he's getting all worked up over an empty house. Obviously they just went to town for something. Sirius walks back outside and checks the driveway, and finds that Mr. Lupin's car is missing. So, that mystery is solved, then….

Sirius decides to wait for Remus and Mr. Lupin to come home. He walks around their property, idly thinking how beautiful the moon looks tonight. He's about to head back to their porch to wait some more when their shed catches his eye. He isn't sure, but he thinks he hears something coming from it… what is that noise? Not the car door slamming, but that—is that howling?

The hairs on the back of Sirius's neck stand up as he begins walking toward the shed. He's transfixed, as if something is possessing him, causing him to place one foot in front of the other. He walks slowly toward the shed, the edges of his world blurring until all he can see is the wooden structure 100 yards… 50 yards… 25 yards in front of him….

**9.**

It is only a few hours after his dad told him that Sirius nearly found out, and Remus is tossing and turning restlessly in his bed. He is mostly healed from this full moon; he's only uncomfortable because his arm itches under its bandage, but as long as he doesn't think about it, it's pretty easy to ignore.

If only he could ignore his other problems….

He'd have to face Sirius when his friend woke up. When his dad had caught Sirius so close to the shed, he didn't have a choice but to stop him. And then, of course, Mr. Lupin had promised Sirius answers to _what was in the shed,_ and _did you have to knock me bloody unconscious?_ and _where the bloody hell is Remus?_ But before Mr. Lupin would answer any of Sirius's questions, he insisted that Sirius put a bandage on that cut and drink some tea. Remus knows that Sirius is downstairs now, sleeping the sleep of the drugged.

Mr. Lupin hadn't wanted to tell Sirius Remus's secret—he said it's Remus's choice to confide in him or not. But how can he possibly make that decision? Even if he did tell Sirius, would he even believe him? Most people don't believe werewolves exist, after all.

The other alternative is even worse—if Sirius does believe Remus, and despises him because of it….

The worst part of all of this, Remus thinks guiltily, is that he doesn't always hate being a werewolf. The nights before and after the full moon are filled with the most wonderful dreams—dreams so vivid they are somehow more real than most of his waking moments. In them he runs under the full moon, with a dog, stag, and rat by his side. They are in a huge forest, sometimes in the winter, and sometimes in summer—but always together, and always free.

Remus must have dropped off without realizing it, because next thing he knows he's being shaken awake by his father.

"Remus," his father says, "Sirius will wake soon."

Remus tries to focus, but the last vestiges of his dream are dancing in his mind, clearer than the image of his father in front of him. In his dream Sirius, and two other boys he thinks he recognizes, are telling him it's okay that he's a werewolf, they think it's brilliant, and why didn't Remus tell them sooner? And Dream Remus is so happy and sad that he feels like running and jumping and crying all at once, but he only stands there, until Sirius and another boy clap him on the shoulder and then he is crying, but smiling, too…

"Remus?" Mr. Lupin says again, staring at his son's blank expression. "Are you all right?"

"Huh?" Remus says, lifting his head and trying to focus on his father's face. His dream is fading, but strangely enough it feels like he is falling asleep, which doesn't make any sense because he's just woken up…

"Sirius will wake soon," his father repeats, and reaches down to put a comforting hand on Remus's shoulder.

Strange, Remus thinks, that Sirius' hand in my dream should feel so much more real than my father's does, now…

And that's when Remus decides that he will tell Sirius the truth.

**10.**

"Heads up!"

Remus looks up in time to see the black and white football soaring towards his head. He drops his book and catches it easily, enjoying the satisfying _smack_ of the ball as it hits his hand.

Sirius and his teammate jog over to the bleachers, where Remus has been reading while waiting for Sirius' football practice to end.

"Sorry," Sirius says, and Remus tosses the ball back to him. "That was all his fault."

"Oi!" the other boy says indignantly, but Remus can tell he isn't really upset. "If your aim was better, Sirius…"

"My aim is spectacular," Sirius says haughtily, and demonstrates by bouncing the ball on his head, his knee, his other knee, his head again… 

"Show-off," Remus says, and the other boy laughs as Sirius continues dribbling the ball in a spectacular fashion.

"That was an amazing catch, by the way. How come you don't play for the team?"

"Er…" Remus pauses, trying to think of a plausible explanation. Of course, the real reason he doesn't try out for the team is because he would have to shower in front of everyone, leading to awkward questions about his scars. And it was inevitable that a fair amount of games and practices would fall on the days of the full moon, when Remus would be unable to play. He can't tell him this, though, and is about to say he doesn't much like the sport when Sirius comes bouncing to his rescue.

"Oh, Remus plays all right," Sirius says, "just on a different field, if you get my meaning." Sirius wiggles his eyebrows and leers at Remus. "He's a real _wolf_ with the ladies. Always off with some bird. He doesn't have the energy for anything so frivolous as football, after certain activities that leave the girls _howling_ for—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, Sirius," Remus says, grinning despite himself. He rolls his eyes at Sirius' teammate, hoping that he is sufficiently distracted so he won't ask him for a real reason. "As you can see, Black here is delusional." 

"Barking mad," the boy agrees, laughing. He pulls Sirius back towards their practice. "See you later, Lupin," he calls over his shoulder, stealing the ball away from Sirius.

"Don't have too wild a time without me!" Sirius winks, and turns around and chases after him.

Remus sits back down on the bleachers and picks up his book, but leaves it unopened on his lap. Instead, he watches Sirius practice, a warm feeling accompanying the grin on his face.

**11.**

Remus wakes up drenched in sweat and achingly hard beneath his pajama bottoms.

He is shaking, half-heartedly trying to will his erection away. He doesn't try for long, though. The dream is too real, and he is too close to orgasm, and he wants to come so badly he forgets that he is being a terrible friend to Sirius. He slips a hand past his waistband and touches his cock, already slick with pre-come and throbbing in his hand.

He begins to stroke himself, mentally replaying every second of his dream. He and Sirius are on a four-poster bed, surrounded by heavy folds of dark red curtains. Sirius is lying on his back and Remus is lying on his stomach beside Sirius, cupping his face with one hand as they kiss gently, lovingly, enjoying the warmth between them. Soon Remus' hands are in his hair, and Sirius is gasping into his mouth. 

"Moony," Sirius whispers, licking Remus' bottom lip before pulling away. "Do you…?"

"Hmm?" Remus asks, moving to lick and kiss Sirius' neck, something he has only just recently dared to do.

"Can… Can I touch you?"

Remus stills, his mouth pressed against Sirius' neck. His heartbeat quickens, and he pulls away to see Sirius' face.

Sirius is looking at him intently, his grey eyes reflecting the lust Remus is sure are in his own. He looks down at the rest of Sirius' body, noticing Sirius' erection tenting his pajama bottoms. He feels his face turn red, knowing that he must look much the same.

"I… I don't want to take off…" Remus isn't sure how to finish the sentence. He is a virgin, a fact that feels very important when lying in bed with his best friend. He trusts Sirius, and knows he isn't playing games with him—but everything between them is still so deliciously new that he can't help but fear he'll mess it up somehow, that he'll fail to make Sirius feel the way he does… 

Sirius must have seen the worry in his eyes, because he reaches out a hand and touches it to Remus' cheek. "No, we don't have to take anything off," he agrees, and rubs a thumb softly against Remus' lower lip. "I just… I want to make you come, Moony. I want to _feel_ you…"

Sirius gently pulls Remus above him, positioning Remus so that his hands are on either side of Sirius' shoulders and their bodies only inches apart. Sirius looks into Remus' eyes, then arches his back and presses his hips against Remus's.

Remus shuts his eyes and moans at the contact. He feels Sirius hard against him, and the sensation is so good he can't help but rock against Sirius, pushing him down into the bed.

"Oh _Sirius,"_ Remus breathes, thrusting against Sirius again, the thin fabric of their pajama bottoms adding just the right amount of friction. "Oh god, Sirius, I'm—" 

"Moony—"

Sirius pulls Remus down for a searing kiss, their hips still rocking together, and it's too much for Remus because he's coming, he's coming harder than he's ever come in his entire life—

Remus breathes raggedly, his hand still wrapped around his cock, now sticky with his own come. He sits still, gasping from the intensity of his orgasm. For a few moments he relaxes, before his conscience catches up with him.

The first time this happened, he was so shocked and embarrassed that he was sure Sirius would be able to tell, that everyone would be able to tell, what he had dreamt.

That had been a year ago.

Now, this was such a normal occurrence that he only feels the familiar twinge of guilt as he acknowledges that Sirius wouldn't appreciate being thought of in this way. He hates himself for dreaming of Sirius, but he can't help it—the dreams are so real and vivid that he doesn't think he'd be able to stop them.

The problem, Remus thinks angrily, is that he doesn't really want to try.  
**  
12.**

Sirius is worried. 

Before Remus told him the truth about being a werewolf, Sirius used to worry about him being sick so often. But Remus never acted differently towards him then, so at the time he hadn't seen the danger.

Now, Remus is a bit of a nervous wreck, always jumping whenever Sirius comes close.

Remus is fine at school, when they are in classes and surrounded by their other friends. But whenever Sirius suggests they should go camping, or should hang out alone, Remus gets this edgy look in his eyes that makes Sirius' stomach twist.

Sirius fears that the only explanation for Remus' odd behavior is that he _knows._

Right now, they are sitting on the roof of Remus' house, watching the sun set in the distance. Sirius is about to comment on how beautiful the sky looks, but immediately stops himself before he begins that line of conversation. _How much more bloody obvious could I get?_ He mentally shakes himself.

"So," Sirius starts after a few more moments, trying to fill what he feels is a painfully awkward silence. Remus turns and looks at him questioningly, and Sirius gropes for something to say.

"Um," he continues intelligently, "I guess it'll be night soon."

"Hmm, yes," Remus agrees absently. "That's what usually happens after the sun sets, Sirius."

Sirius knows he's just joking, but the comment stings even still. He wants to say something sarcastic, something mean, but the second his mouth opens he snaps his jaw shut. If Remus knows that he fancies him, then he has every right to freeze Sirius out.

So Sirius says nothing and hopes if he looks hard enough at the last bit of sun on the horizon that maybe he'll go blind, stumble off the roof, and meet his timely demise.

"What do you dream about, Sirius?" Remus asks suddenly, startling Sirius out of his morbid reverie. _Oh, shit, he_ knows.

"Um," Sirius says, quickly trying to think of a recent dream that would be innocuous enough to share with Remus. "I dream about food sometimes," he says, remembering the marshmallows he and Remus toasted around a fire last summer, before their sixth year. "And showing up at school naked. That's always a bad one." He laughs nervously. _Oh, shit. Why did I bring up _naked?

Remus turns to face Sirius. It's now dark enough that he can't make out his face, but Sirius worries that Remus will be able to sense the blush staining his cheeks. _Great job, Black._

"Er, this is going to sound strange," Remus says, his voice getting quiet. "But… do you know anyone named James Potter, Peter Pettigrew, or Lily Evans?"

Sirius is so grateful that it isn't what he thought it might be that it takes a few moments to remember that Remus had asked him a question. Sirius wracks his mind, going over everyone at their school. "No, I don't think so," he says slowly. "Why? Do you?"

"No, that's the thing!" Remus says, sounding frustrated. "I've been having these very weird dreams about a school called Hogwarts. You're there too, and we're best friends with some blokes named James Potter and Peter Pettigrew."

"So what, is this like a recurring dream?" 

"No, each one is different, but with the same people. These dreams… they're so real, it's like they've really happened. I feel like I know these people, like I _should_ know them… but you're the only one I recognize."

Sirius thinks he hears a note of disappointment in Remus' voice, and the small hope he'd felt when Remus said he'd been dreaming about him instantly died. 

"Well," Sirius says after a while, "how long have you been having them?"

"Since I was eleven."

Sirius is shocked. "And you remember them all?"

"Yes," says Remus. "I told you, it's like they've really happened. It's so _real."_

"I don't suppose this could have anything to do with you being a werewolf."

"I don't see how, though that is part of it."

"What do you mean?" 

Sirius hears Remus sigh softly. "In these dreams there are animals who keep me company during the full moons, so I don't hurt myself. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but it's like they're my friends, protecting me…"

"I'm sorry," Sirius says quietly, a familiar ache of sadness welling up within him, "I wish there was something, anything I could do—"

"It's okay, Sirius," Remus says, putting an arm around Sirius for what feels like the first time in ages. "I know."

**13.**

Remus has never punched anyone before, which is why it comes as a surprise to both of them when his fist connects solidly with Sirius' jaw.

Sirius reels from the blow and stumbles, flinging out his arms for balance as he tries to keep himself from falling. Stumbling and slack-jawed, Sirius' eyes widen with both shock and pain. Snarling, Remus advances towards Sirius again, his fury overtaking all reason, until he can _smell_ Sirius' anger and fear and…

Sirius recovers and, with a strangled yell of pain, launches himself at Remus, arms connecting with Remus' shoulders and knocking Remus down to the ground. Sirius tries to pin Remus down, but Remus flips them both over until they are rolling, rolling down the pathway that leads from the school to the forest.

"You BASTARD!" Remus yells, high on instincts that tell him where and how to position his weight, until he has Sirius pinned down underneath him and is drawing back his fist, readying himself for another shot at Sirius' face. 

"GET OFF ME, YOU LUNATIC!" Sirius yells back, throwing his upper body against Remus' and gaining enough leverage to flip Remus over before Remus' punch can reach its intended target. 

Remus, now pinned beneath Sirius, draws in a breath and pushes against Sirius' arms that have him pinned to the ground, gravel digging into his back and ripping at his shirt.

Remus is surprised at how easily Sirius' arms give way, and apparently so is Sirius, who makes a choking sound as Remus flips him over and presses his back into the ground, hard.

"YOU FUCKING BASTARD!" Remus snarls, blinded by rage and overtaken with the hurt, anger, and betrayal that weighs on his chest like so many moonlit nights.

"REMUS, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" Sirius yells, struggling against the hold he's locked in.

For a moment Remus can no longer breathe, he can only stare down at the boy underneath him, and think how easy it would be to punch him into oblivion. Remus growls, then bares his teeth as Sirius writhes beneath him, futilely pushing all his weight against his captor's steely grip.

It is the red droplets trickling down Sirius' neck that finally break the spell. Remus sees the trail of blood snaking across Sirius' jugular and jerks backwards, as if stung, and scrapes his palms against the sharp gravel underneath them. Oh. 

He looks up at Sirius, who is frozen, staring back at him in shock, breath coming in labored gasps.

"What… what in fucking hell was _that_ about, Remus?" he asks after a long moment of silence, the sounds of heavy breaths punctuating each syllable. He prods his jaw hesitantly, then winces. His eyes shine with unshed tears, but he doesn't seem to notice as he stares at Remus, who is sprawled a few feet away from him.

Remus is horrified. For a moment, he actually thought he was going to tear his best friend's throat out. For a moment he'd smelled fear and anger and _lusted_ for it, wanted to drown in it, and all because…

"Why?" Remus finally chokes out, gritting his teeth around the words that taste strangely of salt. He reaches up and touches his cheek, and feels wet tear tracks flowing into his mouth. Oh. Not so strange, then.

"Yes, Remus, WHY?" Sirius demands, scrambling to his feet, clutching at the cuts on the side of his neck and smearing his blood all over his white shirt sleeve.

Remus stands up too, and looks into Sirius' grey eyes, over-bright still, sparkling with pain and anger.

"Why…." Remus stumbles over the words, his mouth trying to catch up with what his mind is screaming, his chest constricting under, the pain that is cutting through him so evenly and easily—

"Heather Sanders," Remus finally says, spitting out the words like poison. Sirius goes slack jawed for the second time in so many minutes and stares at Remus, incredulous.

"Wh-_what?"_ he finally stammers, clearly taken by surprise.

Something twists in Remus' chest, something hot and burning and _painful._

"Of all the girls. All of them, why—just to humiliate me? Was that it?" Remus feels his breath hitch painfully in his throat, but he gulps and continues on anyway, biting the words out through the pain. "Were you so busy trying to live up to your name, trying to act the part, that you'd betray me over it? Is that what happened, _Black?"_

Sirius is at a loss for words. Speechless for once, Remus thinks, but does not laugh at the thought. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever seen anything less funny in his life.

"I," Sirius begins, then licks his lips and turns his head to the side, looking anywhere but into Remus' angry gaze. He fumbles for a few more seconds, and Remus takes a step back, no longer sure that he wants to listen to any explanations Sirius may have to offer.

If Sirius sees Remus step back he doesn't show it. He exhales loudly, then says, simply, "No."

"I wouldn't have minded letting you have her—I wasn't interested, really," Remus says, the anger dissipating and the hurt taking over him completely. His voice sounds numb and hollow. "You didn't have to do it behind my back. I would have told her I wasn't interested, if I'd known you were jealous."

"I wasn't—I wasn't jealous of you," Sirius says finally. Remus doesn't say anything, just stands there, unable to meet Sirius' eyes. His chest hurts so much—he is sure his heart is broken. How could Sirius want to do something so mean, so petty, for a girl who wasn't really his, for a girl Remus didn't even want? What a pointless, stupid thing Sirius betrayed him for…

"I wasn't jealous of you," Sirius repeats. "I was jealous of her."

Remus stands still until Sirius' words sink in. He jerks his head up in surprise, and sees that Sirius' lower lip is trembling, his shoulders heaving, and Remus realizes abruptly that _Sirius Black_ is about to cry.

"I'm in love with you," Sirius whispers, and then his tears begin to fall, and Remus is the one whose jaw has gone slack.

**  
14.  
**  
That night, Remus dreams of another kind of betrayal.

"Unless—" Remus' eyes suddenly widen, "—unless he was the one… unless you switched… without telling me?"

Remus sees Sirius nod, and in this moment twelve years of regret, pain, and anger vanishes. Remus reaches out toward Sirius and they embrace, and nothing in the world has ever felt so good, because Sirius is _innocent,_ he is here and he is _innocent—_

The dream shifts, and he and Sirius are in another house, one nearly as dark, but now they're on a bed and they're kissing, kissing hard and passionately and with none of the shyness they did when they were younger.

But when Remus murmurs, "Sirius, can I take this off?" Sirius freezes.

"I… I don't think I should take anything off," Sirius says finally, and Remus realizes that he is frightened, frightened of what Remus will think of him after so many years spent starving and alone.

"Oh, Sirius," Remus says, and sighs heavily, lowering his body on top of his. "Don't worry, Sirius. I love you, and I'm not going anywhere."

Remus wakes up, trembling.

**15.**

_Seventh year,_ Sirius thinks to himself, _is the worst year of my life._

He and Remus are friends. _Friends,_ he reminds himself every time he sees Remus and his heart leaps into his throat and his knees grow weak. _Just friends._

He and Remus have not talked about The Incident. They sit next to each other on the bus, they sit next to each other in classes, they sit next to each other at lunch, and they Do Not Talk.

Sirius might say, "Good morning, Remus," as he feels his stomach fall through the grimy bus floor.

Remus might say, "Good morning, Sirius," in a calm, polite voice that Sirius has only heard him use as weapons against those Remus does not like.

All in all, Sirius concludes, the situation is not looking good.

Not at all.

At least, that is what he was thinking two seconds ago.

Two seconds before he realized that things can always get much, much worse.

**16.**

Remus dreams of funerals.

He dreams of funeral services for people he does not know. Fabian and Gideon Prewett, Marlene McKinnon, Benjy Fenwick, Edgar Bones, James and Lily Potter, Peter Pettigrew…

The names mean nothing to him, but in his dreams they are all he can think about, a list of people he loved, worked with, respected… gone.

And in his dreams he is always angry.

When he wakes he doesn't feel angry, but shocked. Shocked and sad that Sirius' governess, Mrs. Higgins, has died.

Remus finishes combing his hair and checks his suit and jacket in the mirror. He and his father leave shortly after.

Remus is afraid that when he sees Sirius he will not know what to say. Even though he lost his mother when he was six, he still has his father. Mrs. Higgins was all Sirius had. But when Remus arrives at the service he realizes it does not matter, because Sirius is standing alone, looking lost and miserable and desperate. Remus gives his father a last reassuring glance before he walks up to Sirius and wordlessly embraces him.

It is simultaneously the worst and best feeling in the world when Sirius hugs him back, shaking with suppressed sobs.

"I'm so sorry, Sirius," Remus whispers, knowing that it is not the words that matter but that he is there, and saying them.

**  
17.**

It is almost the end of seventh year when Sirius asks Remus to stargaze with him, like they used to do as children.

Remus agrees, and feels a hum of anticipation send shivers down his spine.

That night, he dreams of kisses, and waking up next to the man he loves. 

**18.**

_Right,_ Sirius thinks to himself. _The Plan. Do not forget The Plan._

The Plan, of course, is one of seduction. Specifically, it is a plan to seduce Remus Lupin.

He spent hours in the shower, scrubbing himself very clean, and then choosing what cologne to wear. He felt slightly ridiculous, but in the end he decided the effect was worth it, if he did say so himself (and he did, as his reflection beamed heartily back at him in his mirror).

Now he and Remus are camping once again in a two-man canvas tent in the woods. He is very excited about this, though he knows that he can't simply pounce on Remus after they snuggle into their sleeping bags (though he doesn't think that is a bad idea either, and has even entertained several elaborate fantasies as to how he could convince Remus that really, his sleeping bag is no where to be found, and will he pretty please share?)

They have just finished eating a late dinner out of a picnic basket Sirius packed. If Remus thought it odd that they ate chocolate-covered strawberries for desert, he didn't show it.

"I think it's dark enough now."

Sirius, who had just been thinking the same thing, nods before realizing that Remus won't be able to see him in the dark. "Yes, I think so too."

For the next hour they huddle around Sirius' telescope and bring different constellations into focus, just as they had when they were younger. _God, it feels so good to be doing this again,_ Sirius thinks, and smiles into the night sky.

**19.**

Remus had known he was in trouble before they ate the chocolate-covered strawberries. 

But if he hadn't figured it out by then, it probably would have been a big clue.

_Oh, God. _

They had been dancing around each other for months—years, really, Remus knows—and now, tonight, in the middle of the woods, under a midnight sky, he is nervously anticipating the climax.

Remus cringes at the blatant sexual innuendo. The fact that they somehow crept into his mind whenever he's around Sirius would probably have been a big clue as well.

_Oh, God._

This anticipation is so fundamentally different from the anxious dread he feels before the change that he does not know what to do with himself. He looks at the stars with Sirius, and smiles and makes idle comments about the constellations overhead, but his heart is hammering in his chest and his whole body feels like pudding.

In fact, Remus is concentrating so hard on how excited he feels that he does not notice when the moment is upon him.

Of course, the fact that Sirius is _literally_ upon him should have been a big clue.

_Oh, God._

"Remus," Sirius says slowly, "I need to tell you something."

Remus swallows. "Yes?"

Sirius' eyes loom big and grey and are right in front of him, holding his gaze hostage.

"Ray-moo," Sirius begins, "Il ne faut pas que je te vois dans la lumière de la lune. Nous nous étendons sous la lumière des étoiles, et je te veux seulement, je t'ai toujours voulu."

There is complete and utter silence while the urge to laugh and the urge to kiss Sirius struggle for dominance.

It is a close thing, until Remus stops focusing on how silly his French sounds and on the words he has actually spoken.

"Embrasse-moi," Remus says softly, and Sirius readily obeys.

When they both pull away from the kiss, Remus is bombarded with so many visions and emotions that he almost faints.

"Oh, ha ha, steady there Remus," Sirius says, catching Remus before he falls. "You're swooning, completely understandable."

Remus looks up at Sirius, who is still cradling him in his arms, and suddenly everything falls into place. 

"Sirius Black," Remus breathes, "Oh Merlin, I know who you are!"

"Oh, Remus Lupin," Sirius says huskily, "I know who you are, too. That's why I love you so much. Je t'adore, and say my name again." He bends down for another kiss.

"No, I mean—I remember!" Remus struggles against Sirius, trying to stand on his own two feet, trying to make Sirius understand. "I was falling through the veil, and you were there with Harry—" 

Sirius looks at him blankly, and Remus begins to panic. 

"Don't you remember, Padfoot?"

Sirius opens his mouth to reply, but in that instant the world around them disappears. 

**20.**

**Part One (Again)**

A few seconds before midnight, he understood, and began to laugh— 

And stopped abruptly when Sirius Black and Remus Lupin came toppling out of the archway.

Sirius blinked up at him from where they had landed in a heap on the floor. "I thought… I told you not to wait up for me." Sighing deeply, Sirius closed his eyes and sank contentedly next to a sleeping Remus Lupin. 

Croaker assessed the situation. All in all, he and Sirius had broken more laws than he could count, violated every statute of his contract with the Ministry, and made one of the most incredible magical discoveries of the century. He was alone in the heart of the Department of Mysteries with a wanted fugitive and a legally-dead werewolf.

Also, it was Christmas.

Pulling out Sirius' two-way mirror from his jacket pocket, Croaker decided it was never too early to wish Harry Potter Happy Holidays, and invite him over to Order Headquarters for a festive dinner with Remus and Padfoot. 

The End


End file.
